


Roasting on a Open Fire

by Shachaai



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, New Year's nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 10:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19744225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shachaai/pseuds/Shachaai
Summary: Australia, New Zealand, Wy, Hutt River, Indonesia and Papua New Guinea celebrate their summery New Year. Family, friends, food and a firepit.





	Roasting on a Open Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted from tumblr.

“What do you _mean_ ‘maybe someone else should do it’?!” Australia looks rather eerily like England when he looks emotionally injured and puts his hands on his hips - though the effect, New Zealand resignedly thinks, is rather ruined by the dark shock of Australia’s summer suntan, as well as the brightly-spotted t-shirt he’d pulled on over his surf shorts. Aggrieved tongs are snapped half an inch from New Zealand’s nose. “I’m the Barbecue Champion!”

New Zealand wisely shuffles out of snapping range, the grass of his neighbour’s back garden tickling his bare feet and the smoke of the firepit beside them both beginning to sting a little in his eyes. “I’m not disputing your barbecuing prowess -”

“ _I_ am,” Indonesia says cheerfully, trotting out of Australia’s home with two plates of prepared small and/or delicate fish wrapped in tin-foil in her hands. Her hair, raked back with her fingers after they’d been swimming in the ocean earlier, has set in furrows, stiff with saltwater, giving a roguish look to her smile when she looks back over her shoulder at Hutt River and Wy behind her, both also being used as pack-horses from the kitchen. “Do you remember when he set the garden on fire?” 

_“That_ was not my fault.” Australia turns the tongs on Indonesia, offended when the woman merely shakes her head at him with a smile as she, Wy, and Hutt River beginning setting out their table. “Nobody warned me the beer crate was there -”

“You _put_ it there,” drones Papua New Guinea, who has been granted the unwanted task of setting up Australia’s rusty collapsible deck-chairs so they can all sit down at some point and soak in the sunshine as they eat.

“It’s not even a _barbecue_ ,” says New Zealand, before his southern neighbour can start up with a protest of _a_ reminder _still would’ve been great!_

“That’s the fun part!” Australia gestures at his firepit, still shiny and new and now everything New Zealand regrets in the world because he had been the idiot who had _bought_ the firepit for Australia as a Christmas present. With a food-grill included. “It’s the same principles anyway: some fire, a grill, some grub -”

“A _lot_ of fire, an unusual grill, and very flammable ingredients -”

“ _Zea_ , you worry too much.” Australia puts down his tongs if only so he can grab New Zealand instead - which, naturally, means New Zealand is fully entitled to plant his elbow into Australia’s ribcage (Australia smells like beach and salt and sweat, and New Zealand has _no_ desire to be stuffed under his armpit) and start a half-brawl with the pain.

Which he loses, because _he’s_ the only one making sure they don’t fall into the firepit.

Australia hauls him around, grabbing New Zealand’s shoulders and displaying him to to the rest of the Nations in the back garden like some kind of lethal animal he’s decided to pick up and cuddle again. “Look at him. Look at these worry lines.”

Wy, young and distinctly unimpressed as she fishes through the salad bowl for cucumber to thieve, squints at them both. “If there are any lines there, I think that says more about _your_ bad qualities than his.”

Hutt River winces on everyone’s behalf, looking down at her beside him. “Aren’t you a little harsh for one so young…?”

“Survival instincts,” says Wy, and takes a bite out of her bit of cucumber. She’s grumpier than usual; she has sunburn across her cheeks from their morning at the beach.

Indonesia, meanwhile, has gotten down on her hands and knees, peering under the food table. “Papua, have you seen my video-camera?”

“Sorry,” says Papua New Guinea, who has finished off setting up the deck-chairs and now seems pretty determined on the icebox where the drinks are kept.

“Can’t you just use your phone?” asks Wy, when Indonesia almost bumps into her waist.

“What do you need video for?” Australia frowns when he’s confused, his grip going lax enough New Zealand takes the opportunity to make a break for freedom.

“For the trainwreck, of course!” Indonesia looks surprised Australia doesn’t already _know_ this, distracted by Hutt River offering her his hand to help her up to her feet again.

Finally - after a few seconds bewildered turning about on the spot - realising he has lost New Zealand, Australia goes for his tongs again before approaching his guests and the food on the table that needs to go on the grill. “Weren’t you ever taught not to insult the chef?”

Indonesia just grins at him. “You are many things, but _chef_ is not one of the ones I would include on the list.”

“Weren’t we putting potatoes in the pit with the coals?” asks Papau New Guinea, now casually drinking a beer and interjecting before Australia can open his mouth again.

Indonesia jolts - “I _knew_ I forgot something!” - and disappears for the kitchen again, which _further_ takes the wind out of Australia’s sails, as no-one else seems inclined to offer him the same sort of argument as she does.

“They should go in first,” Papua New Guinea advises - which Australia, grumbling, accepts with a disgruntled _yeah, yeah._

“What fish do you want first?” Australia examines their supply on the table, raw seafood set carefully aside from salad, breads, dips and marinades. “Gonna have to stick the tuna steaks on early because they’re so chunky, but if anyone’s hungry the sardines and sea crayfish tails can be done in fifteen.”

“The sea bass is the centrepiece though, isn’t it?” New Zealand, following everyone else to the table, nudges over a plate with only one large foil-wrapped fish on it in as least a threatening way as he possibly can considering Australia had dragged him around shopping for _three hours_ looking for the perfect sea bass.

If the sea bass, carefully wrapped with herbs and butter, is not cooked first and widely admired by all, New Zealand is going to slap Australia with it.

Australia takes the hint, and takes the sea bass and tuna steaks to the firepit.

“I found my camera!” Indonesia emerges, jubilant with her hardware in her hands, from the house in the middle of New Zealand and Wy’s in-depth discussion as to whether they should put the split sea crayfish tails or the sardines on as a ‘quick cook’ first.

Papua New Guinea, who had been silently drinking his beer for the most part and whose only contribution to that conversation had been to ask for the stuffed trout to go on when the tuna steaks came off, looks up at her slowly. “…And the potatoes?”

“…Oh,” says Indonesia, her steps and smile faltering, “yeah. Hold this!” She thrusts her video-camera in Hutt River’s hands and disappears back inside the house again.

“I should burn all your fish just to spite you all,” says Australia, but his sulk disappears in a smoky _hiss_ when he puts the tuna steaks on the grill.

“The _potatoes._ ” New Zealand sighs.

“There’s plenty of room for the potatoes!”

“Like you don’t burn fish by accident anyway?” Wy demands, ignoring all potato comments being made over her head.

New Zealand can feel a headache coming on that has nothing to do with the summer sun beating down on his head. _Peace and goodwill to all mankind…_ “Wy, it’s not fair to pick on people who can’t easily defend themselves.”

Australia steps out of the way of the smoke trail just so he can give them both a dirty look. “ _Hey._ ”

“Oh, just let him cook, Zea.” Indonesia returns to their company again, carrying a very hopeful looking bucket with both her hands. “We’re all here to help if he needs us, and I’ve brought this water for emergencies.”

“That’s great -”

“Indy,” Wy pipes up, “the _potatoes._ ”

Which are still in the kitchen.

Setting down her bucket, Indonesia rubs the back of her neck, embarrassed. The water will probably be useful, but it’s… not what they’re waiting for.

Hutt River takes pity on her, and hands the video-camera off to Wy. “Why don’t I give you a hand with them? There’s two for each of us, and twelve large potatoes is a lot for one person to carry alone.”

“I don’t think you have any room to criticise,” says New Zealand to Australia, when he catches sight of the other Nation gesturing with some exasperated _I told you so!-_ like motions at the house where Hutt River has taken Indonesia _again._ Australia is terrible at charades, but it’s not hard to guess his flailing is some sort of comment that they’d dared to say something about _his_ cooking technique when others couldn’t even get the food to the grill.

“Nope,” Wy agrees, before trotting over to the drinks. “Also I changed my mind. I want the spicy tomato shrimp kebabs before the sardines.”

“With the trout,” says Papua New Guinea, fishing out a coke for the Micronation beside him.

“And the honey-ginger salmon when the sea bass is done,” says New Zealand, going over to join them, since the icebox is set beside the chairs. They also have monkfish and halibut to cook, but those are just oiled and salted and put straight on the grill. “Please don’t set fire to anything that shouldn’t be on fire.”

Australia groans at all of them, but, grumbling again, does as bid.

“You set a very low bar,” comments Papua New Guinea, when New Zealand flops in one of the deck-chairs beside him. “Beer?”

“Thanks.” New Zealand takes the cold, opened bottle being offered over his shoulder; he’s probably going to need it. “Cheers.”

Papua New Guinea raises his own bottle as he takes the seat beside him, Wy joining them in solemnly raising her own can of coke before turning on the video-camera and pointing it at Australia and the firepit with a quiet _beep._


End file.
